


Checking In

by DenmarkStreetGutterClub



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Smut, TurnOnTuesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenmarkStreetGutterClub/pseuds/DenmarkStreetGutterClub
Summary: She'd asked him to text her when he was home and settled; little did he know she'd made another decision too.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 31
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**You up?**

Robin smiled as the text message popped up on her phone. She'd asked him to text her when he was home and settled; little did he know she'd made another decision too. She'd drunk a little wine to give her the courage she needed, and now all she had to do was wait for an opening. She reached over to her bedside cabinet for her wine; she took a contemplative sip before responding.

**Yeah. Not sleepy. You?**

Strike's reply came almost instantly.

**Nah, I'm asleep.**

Robin laughed to herself. He was ridiculous.

**Ok. So you're texting me in your sleep then?**

Robin watched the three dots on her screen that meant he was typing. She mustered her courage and got there first.

**That must mean you're dreaming of me.**

The dots stopped moving. Robin pictured him receiving the message, taking a sharp breath in; she watched in her mind's eye as confusion and arousal mingled on his face. Was it only her imagination that showed her the bulge in his trousers growing?

**Dreaming of you? Why would I need to dream of you when I see you every day?**

Robin's heart sank a little. She had thought he was on the same page, and he'd take the bait. Unfortunately for her, it seemed he'd retreated into his professional work persona. Robin drank more wine with a forlorn air. Her phone buzzed again.

**Well… maybe the dreams show me the bits of you that I** **_don't_ ** **see every day.**

Robin's heart looked hopefully over the parapet.

**And what would they be?**

**You know, being at home, chilled out. Relaxing. Unwinding. Showering.**

Robin spluttered on her wine; she had hoped he would play along, but she hadn't expected him to jump in with both feet, and so quickly. Really, she should have known better. When he decided on something, he was unshakeable. The thought that he must have decided on this made her bolder.

**What if I told you I'd just come out of the shower?**

Robin's heart thundered in her chest. She put down her glass with trembling hands. Her skin felt hot and oversensitive.

**Are you still wet?**

Arousal rushed through Robin's body like a tidal wave. She wanted to call him, but she didn't think she'd be able to speak. This was just enough, for now.

**Not from the shower.**

**I see.**

A loaded pause followed Strike's short response, and then:

**What are you planning on doing about that then?**

Robin was elated at his playfulness, that he had joined in. Her hand slowly razed across her chest towards her nipple, and she trailed her fingers along it, brushing sideways and back again; it hardened as she touched it, and she couldn't help but imagine stronger fingers, hairier fingers…

**I'm just checking to see whether the rest of me is dry. Need to go over every inch.**

Robin swallowed hard, and raised her other hand to her other nipple.

**Are they hard?**

Robin's shock was as nothing to the gush of excitement she felt. She couldn't believe he knew exactly what she was doing. She took her courage in both hands.

**Yes. Are you?**

**God, Robin. What do you think?**

It was the first glimpse of a more honest Strike; a less playful and a more genuine Strike. Robin's longing for him sharpened to the point it hurt.

**I think you're hard. And I think you're feeling how hard you are.**

Robin was feeling bold, three glasses of wine in, and her hands pinching and rolling her nipples. A red flush rose up on her cheeks as her phone buzzed once more. 

**Yes. Both hands. Wishing I was with you.**

**I wish that too. This for now.**

Robin pictured him rolling his grip up and down himself, slowly, savouring the moment. He would want to prolong it, make it last; she knew that he would be the kind of man to take care of a woman first. She felt a tingle of excitement as she realised she might yet be that woman. 

**I'd better make it memorable, then. What are you wearing?**

Robin laughed out loud; the cheesy line seemed out of place with his insistence on making great memories; but then, she thought, maybe his question was purely practical. She giggled as she typed out an equally cheesy response.

**Nothing but Narciso, baby.**

Strike took longer to respond. Robin held her breath, fingers trailing up and down her sternum, touching her belly, grazing her hipbones.

**I hope your hands are on your body.**

Just the written words, coming from his hands, were enough to ramp up her desire. She fumbled for the phone, breath coming quickly.

**Have been for a while. Imagining it's you.**

Robin held her breath, anxious for his reply.

**Touch your clit for me.**

Robin felt a little white-hot burst in her brain, like a sparkler igniting. Her hand snaked down towards her groin, feather light; she dipped a finger into her folds, not altogether surprised to feel the creamy liquid pooled there.

**I'm so wet.**

Robin was half-crazed with desire. She circled her fingers around her clit, dipping them down into her lips and then spreading the moisture up, around, all over her heated flesh. 

**Put one finger inside.**

She complied; she let out a quiet moan as her finger slid inside her, just what she needed but still not enough. She could just imagine the feel of his fingers inside her. He would be forceful, rough; he'd curl his finger upwards and rub against her g-spot. She moaned, and fumbled a reply.

**Two fingers inside. Can't wait much longer.**

His response was quick, and he began a series of instructions.

**Use your other hand to pinch your nipples.**

**Harder.**

**Now move down to your clit. Rub it in circles.**

**Can you push a third finger inside?**

**Faster.**

**Fingers out, and taste your juices.**

**Now back in.**

**Grind those fingers. Like I would.**

Robin was taken aback by the powerful wave of appreciation she felt at his words; he knew what she would like, what she would need. She didn't know how he knew, but she didn't care. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe; she was this close to orgasm. She wanted him desperately.

**Cormoran**

He must have known; his reply was swift and short.

**Come for me, baby.**

She closed her eyes tight and thrust her fingers hard into her melting core. Her orgasm exploded under her hands, sweat breaking out on her brow, her body shaking on the crumpled sheets discarded around her. When she finally came to, and moved her head to the side, there was another message waiting for her.

**You are so beautiful.**

Robin blushed. She felt an absurd gratitude towards Strike, who hadn't even been here, hadn't even seen her, and yet he had brought her to one of the most shattering orgasms she'd ever experienced. How he'd known exactly what she was feeling and doing, and thus how to time his messages, she didn't know. But she hoped she would find out, as it spoke of a sexual prowess and confidence that thrilled her.

**You can't even see me.**

Robin's shy reply was at odds with her racing heart, her pounding pulse, and her feverish skin.

**But I know. I see you every night in my dreams, remember? Get some sleep.**

Robin grinned widely at his adorable line, and then his bossiness.

**Yes, sir.**

She winced slightly after she'd said it. Was that too much? But now, surely, nothing will ever be too much again.

**I like that. Get some rest. You'll wish you had when I jump on you tomorrow.**

Robin glowed with anticipation.

**Goodnight, Cormoran.**

**Goodnight, sweetheart.**

  
  



	2. Cormoran's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has been so lovely about this fic. Here is Cormoran's POV, as requested.

Strike closed his flat door behind him, dumped his backpack, and collapsed onto the sofa. His evening of surveillance had been long and dull, and the late hour made him decide to skip the shower and start undressing for bed. Under the sheets, he stretched out gratuitously. He was free now to turn his thoughts to the thing that had been at the back of his mind all day: Robin, and her blushing face, and her touching request that he text her when he was home. He couldn't help feeling absurdly grateful towards her for caring, little though he needed her concern with this uneventful target. He shrugged off his shirt and lay in his boxers, absently wondering whether Robin was herself lying in underwear under the covers, before texting her.

**You up?**

Her response didn't come immediately, and Strike pictured her selecting her words: whether to be playful, personal, matter of fact… it was possible he was overthinking this. She was just being a good colleague and friend. Her response came, and he lifted the phone eagerly.

**Yeah. Not sleepy. You?**

Strike laughed. She did realise that he'd just messaged her, surely? How could he not be up? He sent her a sarcastic response, hoping to make her smile.

**Nah, I'm asleep.**

Still chuckling, Strike wondered whether she was tired, whether he should leave her alone. He didn't want to. Talking nonsense with Robin was always the best part of his day. But she was typing; she didn't seem to mind. The phone buzzed.

**Ok. So you're texting me in your sleep then?**

He started typing; more sarcasm, more playfulness. Anything to keep her talking, keep her enjoying his correspondence. He really wanted to hear her voice. Before he could think of a decent joke, another message from her arrived.

**That must mean you're dreaming of me.**

Strike gasped. He read the message three times, trying to talk himself out of the instant arousal her words had inspired, but no, there was no mistake: she was flirting with him. He weighed his options. He could tell her the truth: that he dreamed of her often and she featured in ways she would blush to hear of; that his dreams of her were vivid and sexy as hell. But he couldn't risk scaring her away. They had been getting on so well. He tapped out a cautious rebuttal.

**Dreaming of you? Why would I need to dream of you when I see you every day?**

He put the phone face down on the bed, and then ran his hand over his face, cursing himself.  _ Grow some balls, Strike. _

**Well… maybe the dreams show me the bits of you that I** **_don't_ ** **see every day.**

This time he held the phone in both hands; waiting, wishing. Her response came within seconds.

**And what would they be?**

Strike felt his heart pound and his cock grow; she wanted to play. He could hardly believe it. He read back through the conversation to make sure there was no way he could possibly have misconstrued her intentions. Satisfied, he carefully typed his reply. Wishing more than anything that he could see her face as she read it, he sent his message.

**You know, being at home, chilled out. Relaxing. Unwinding. Showering.**

Exhilarated, he put the phone aside to stop himself staring at the screen. The evening had taken an incredible turn.

**What if I told you I'd just come out of the shower?**

Strike groaned out loud; Robin had just turned up the heat with characteristic directness. He pictured her lying back on her pillows, maybe wearing a dressing gown, her hands… where were her hands? Were they on her chest, her legs? Was she stroking her skin? He took a deep breath and asked her the only thing he could think about; the one thing he really wanted to know.

**Are you still wet?**

**Not from the shower.**

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers. He grasped his rigid length and groaned again as he pictured Robin's pale skin, darker between her legs, and the moisture she'd so readily told him about. He gave a brief reply.

**I see.**

That wasn't enough. He needed to be as bold as she was. He sent another.

**What are you planning on doing about that then?**

He waited, hoping she would tell him exactly what she was doing. He was desperate to know where her hands were. 

**I'm just checking to see whether the rest of me is dry. Need to go over every inch.**

Strike grinned, and suddenly he knew exactly what her hands were doing. How the knowledge had come to him, he couldn't say, but he was certain: she was touching her nipples. His cock pulsed in his fist. 

**Are they hard?**

Her response came almost instantly.

**Yes. Are you?**

Strike groaned again; he couldn't get much harder. He could make a joke, but he didn't want to. He wanted her to know how much he wanted her.

**God, Robin. What do you think?**

He put the phone down on the bed while he waited, and his other hand reached into his boxers. He jacked his cock with one hand, the other cupping his heavy balls. Robin's response flashed up on his phone.

**I think you're hard. And I think you're feeling how hard you are.**

He pulled his boxers down impatiently before replying, discarding them onto the floor, keeping one hand on his hard shaft while he typed.

**Yes. Both hands. Wishing I was with you.**

**I wish that too. This for now.**

Strike understood the implication; she was enjoying the barrier. He had to admit he was too. As much as he wanted to call her, to hear her sexy voice, to throw himself in a cab and race to her door, he had to admit that the texting created a gratifying sense of mystery.

**I'd better make it memorable, then. What are you wearing?**

A beat, and her flirty reply came in.

**Nothing but Narciso, baby.**

Strike laughed out loud. But then the meaning hit him: she was naked. Robin had just told him she was naked. His hands kept moving. His breaths became louder.

**I hope your hands are on your body.**

**Have been for a while. Imagining it's you.**

Strike's brain vaguely registered sweat breaking out on his brow. Her hands were on her body, probably stroking, touching, teasing. He wished he could be the one to do it.

**Touch your clit for me.**

He held his breath, waiting for her reply.

**I'm so wet.**

He growled and fisted his cock harder, a tiny bead of pre-cum pulsing out of the end. He no longer cared about tiptoeing around the subject; he wanted her as hot for it as he was. He typed, instructing her:

**Put one finger inside.**

She didn't reply for a while; Strike groaned softly as he imagined her finger sliding inside her entrance, pulling out and gliding back in, her wetness seeping out onto her hand. His phone buzzed, and he grabbed for it.

**Two fingers inside. Can't wait much longer.**

He was panting unashamedly, watching as his mind's eye played a film of Robin rocking her fingers into her hot cunt. He gripped his cock tight in his right hand, moving faster, rubbing harder. His other hand tapped out instructions, forcing himself to send them at steady intervals despite the rhythm set by his racing heart.

**Use your other hand to pinch your nipples.**

**Harder.**

**Now move down to your clit. Rub it in circles.**

**Can you push a third finger inside?**

**Faster.**

**Fingers out, and taste your juices.**

**Now back in.**

**Grind those fingers. Like I would.**

Strike wanted nothing more than to show her. He wanted to see her face as it must be now: flushed pink, tipped back, mouth open. A slight furrow of her brow as her orgasm approached. Her brief reply flashed up on his screen, and he knew. 

**Cormoran**

Her legs would be stiffening. Her hands would be frantic. He felt a sudden surge, and a growl ripped from his throat. With a stupendous effort, he forced himself to give her one last instruction.

**Come for me, baby.**

His orgasm exploded under his hand; stars burst in his brain and creamy cum spurted over his fist, onto his belly and his heaving chest. His mind was filled with Robin as he came down from the high, working to calm his ragged breaths. His heartbeat slowly came back under his control, and he sent another message.

**You are so beautiful.**

He couldn't see her, he hadn't had a message from her in a while, but her silence said everything; he knew she was riding the moment, and that she would have looked gloriously perfect as she came. He didn't feel any shame or embarrassment in what they had just done. He revelled in it.

**You can't even see me.**

Her shy response caught him unawares, and a surge of affection for her made him long to be with her. The sooner they slept, the sooner he could make that possible.

**But I know. I see you every night in my dreams, remember? Get some sleep.**

A beat later:

**Yes, sir.**

Strike laughed, but he couldn't resist the image that came into his head: giving instructions in person and watching Robin's eyes heat as she replied with those same two words. He felt blood rush to his groin again.

**I like that. Get some rest. You'll wish you had when I jump on you tomorrow.**

Her reply was short and gave nothing away:

**Goodnight, Cormoran.**

He knew she would be reeling; he was too. He chose the word carefully, and replied with gratitude and hope.

**Goodnight, sweetheart.**


	3. The morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful for all the excitement and positivity about this fic! I hope this lives up to the hype 😃

The coffee machine let out its usual series of shrill beeps and Robin took the finished cup gratefully. Despite having had a solid eight hours' sleep, she needed the caffeine. She had several things to deal with today, not least processing the salacious events of the night before.

She took her coffee into her bedroom and dressed, pulling on leggings and a loose cotton shirt. Running a brush through her wavy hair, she began to reflect on what had happened last night. She couldn't decide which was her dominant emotion, but she knew for sure that embarrassment featured heavily. What would Strike say to her when she saw him next? Would she ever be able to look him in the eye again?

Padding into the living room on bare feet, she scratched Wolfgang behind the ear and sank onto the sofa. She couldn't settle; she felt anxious. Her desire to call Strike and smooth things over felt almost too strong to bear, but she shoved it back down; maybe he should be the one to make the next move. She wondered if he would just act as though it had never happened, and they would go on in agonising pretence, as before. 

But it had been the most erotic experience of her life, bar none. She had felt like a giddy teenager texting a boy she had a crush on. But Strike was no inexperienced boyfriend: he was a man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. When he had sent her those… instructions… Robin had felt as though he were right there with her, whispering the words in her ear.

She pulled up the text conversation, rereading it for the umpteenth time. She lingered on Strike's penultimate message, wondering how serious he had been when he had mentioned jumping on her. She knew the kind of things men were likely to say in the heat of the moment; she wouldn't hold him to the statement, made while they were both consumed with feverish thoughts of the other's body, chasing climax with only their imaginations for company. But she couldn't help wishing that he  _ had  _ been serious; that the next time they saw one another, he would skip the formalities and just grab her...

Robin put both hands to her forehead, giving herself a stern talking to. It was nine thirty in the morning. Far too early for the direction her thoughts were taking.

She exhaled roughly, put her hands on her thighs and stood, intending to grab her laptop and start work. At least she had a distraction, something she could get her teeth into that would tide her over until that fraught moment when she saw his face again: the face that occupied every waking thought, and most of her sleeping ones too. As she ambled over to her bedroom door, thinking of the mountain of research in her to-do list, the doorbell rang.

Robin's head whipped towards the hallway, anticipation prickling on her scalp. Max wouldn't ring the doorbell. She wasn't expecting anyone. She walked slowly to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Strike's massive frame filled the doorway, his broad shoulders the first thing Robin noticed. She opened her mouth but found she couldn't speak. Her eyes roamed over his chest, arms, waist and neck before finally settling on his face. He was wearing an expression that was half desire and half wariness. His eyes never left hers. He opened his mouth and Robin reached for the edge of the door to steady herself.

"We should talk, don't you think?" he asked. His mouth curved and his eyes burned into hers.

"Nuh-uh," replied Robin. Before Strike could say anything, she had grabbed a handful of his coat and dragged him over the threshold. 

A small groan escaped Strike's throat and he kicked the door shut behind him. Robin's hands were at his chest, fists full of cloth, pulling him towards her. 

"Robin… last night…" he said, running his nose along hers. She pulled harder until he was pressed against her, her back against the wall. Strike tried to speak again but to his utter astonishment, Robin cut him off by biting his bottom lip.

"Couldn't resist… should have asked you…" she murmured.

"No… made me so happy…" Strike replied. His hands went to her hips and he grabbed, fingers curling into the tops of her buttocks, his own hips helplessly bucking forwards.

"Did you mean… do you want..." said Robin. Strike's breath was mingling with hers, his nose and lips blazing trails across her jaw and neck. She grabbed his butt and pulled him even closer; the breath he huffed out tickled her ear and made her shiver.

"To jump on you? Yeah," he replied. He pulled his face back to look at her. For a split second, they stared into each other's eyes. Then they moved at once, and their mouths crashed together.

They moved in a frantic tangle towards the bedroom, hands tearing at clothing, mouths inseparable. Robin fumbled behind her for the doorknob and managed to get them inside without pausing her hands' exploration of his torso. She ran her fingers across his chest, squeezed his biceps, caressed his stomach. His trousers hung open and she could see the trail of darker hair leading down beyond the waistband of his boxers, laid bare to her eyes by the removal of the shirt and belt she'd thrown off somewhere in the hall.

Between desperate kisses and reverent touches, they spoke to each other in gasps.

"So sexy, Robin…"

"I'm… you're amazing… last night was…"

"I'm so glad you started it… never done that before…"

"Me neither… best orgasm of my -"

Strike cut off Robin's words with a searing kiss. "Until today," he said.

He grabbed her butt with both hands and lifted her; Robin squealed in surprise. Strike threw her down on the bed, following a beat later, covering her body with his. Nose to nose, he looked deep into her eyes, grabbed both her hands and pinned them over her head. His mouth slanted over hers and his tongue covered her moan.

Robin was overwhelmed with a mixture of gratitude and lust. She was so thankful that he'd come in and given her exactly what she wanted, what she needed, that she forgot to care about the consequences. She forgot about everything but his mouth roaming down her skin, his hand holding her wrists, the other fisting in her hair. She cried out when his mouth closed on her nipple, sucking hard, his tongue flicking over the tip. 

"I knew you were touching yourself here," he said, biting gently. Robin's back arched off the bed at the feel of his teeth. She knew that she was already wetter than she'd been last night; wetter, probably, than she'd ever been in her life.

"And you were touching yourself too," she breathed.

Strike considered her for a moment, and then released her hands. He quickly removed his trousers and boxers, then his prosthesis. When he came back to her, she was propped up on her elbows, watching him. He was on his knees before her, and his impressive erection strained upwards. He grasped it in his big hand, rubbing slowly, watching her face. Robin swallowed, blood pounding in her ears. She needed him inside her. She'd never wanted anything so badly.

"Cormoran," she began.

"That's what you said to me," he replied, prowling up the bed towards her. "Just before you…"

Robin smiled at Strike's sudden hesitation, amused that his unshakable confidence had a crack. "Came," she said, unembarrassed. "I came hard, for you. Because of you."

Strike covered her mouth with his again, kissing her with all the fevered energy he had built up over years of coveting her. "Pretty much everything I do now is because of you," he murmured against her lips.

Robin drove her hands into his curly hair and kissed him wildly; her whole body strained to be closer to him. Their hands roved over each other's flesh, grabbing and kneading, stroking and teasing. Strike resumed his mouth's path down Robin's body, kissing and licking her skin as he went. Robin felt white-hot fire as he kissed his way down to the slick folds between her legs, unfurled his tongue and licked her slowly, smoothly, until she whimpered with suppressed need.

"Cormoran!" she cried, needing friction, needing his hands and his body against her skin. She tugged on his hair, crazed with desire, and he looked up at her, grinning.

"I told you to taste yourself last night," he said, still smiling.

"And I did," she panted. Strike's eyes darkened, and he came back up to rest beside her on the pillows.

"Show me what else you did," he suggested, his tone careful. He buried his face in her neck, his hand drifting lightly across her collarbone. His lips sent shivers down Robin's neck, and she moaned as he bit down on her shoulder, his tongue following after. 

Robin's hands moved down her body until she could feel the hot, wet evidence of her arousal. She lifted one knee and turned onto her side, facing Strike, watching his blazing eyes as he raised his face to hers. Slowly, his gaze followed her hands, and he watched as she slid two fingers inside, her mouth open slightly, her eyes fixed on him.

Strike watched as she moved her fingers in and out, a red flush spreading across her cheeks, her lips parting as her breaths came faster. Strike reached out and ran a hand through her hair, and she closed her eyes. It was the sexiest thing Strike had ever seen. His cock throbbed.

Robin's eyes snapped open. She slid her dripping fingers out and raised her hand. Strike didn't hesitate; he leaned forward and took them into his mouth, maintaining eye contact with her as he sucked her fingers.

"Now," she whispered.

Strike reached for his discarded trousers and pulled a condom from the pocket. Robin said nothing as he ripped the foil and rolled the condom over himself. He lined himself up, looking directly into her eyes. She gave him a playful smile, her eyes glittering, and Strike entered her with a hard thrust.

Robin cried out, her back arching off the bed as he filled her. Strike leant down and kissed her lips, then started to move. He set a slow, hard, grinding rhythm, rolling his hips into her as she moaned beneath him. Her red-gold hair was splayed out on the pillow, her fair skin flushed and sensitive. Her hands gripped his shoulders, his back, hugging him to her, striving for closeness. Strike swiveled his hips, and Robin's fingers dug in; she made scratch marks on his skin as her short nails gripped him.

Strike groaned and lowered his head to her breast. Taking one hard nipple into his mouth, he drew on it with rhythmic sucks. Robin called out again: a breathless version of his name that would surely grace his dreams for the rest of his life. 

"You are so beautiful," he murmured against her skin. 

"You feel so good," Robin panted. Strike rolled his hips into her, and she threw her head right back. She felt Strike's hands grab her buttocks and hold her tight, driving into her with relentless force. His mouth roamed across every bit of her skin he could reach. He slowly kissed his way up the side of her neck. Robin's breathing was frantic. Sweat dotted Strike's brow.

A storm built within Robin, gathering strength with every hard thrust and roll of Strike's pelvis. He was big, thick, and hard as stone; she felt overwhelmed with pleasure as he hit that spot within her again and again. She came with a fierce cry, her hands in his hair, her body vibrating against his hot skin. As she sank back to earth, she registered Strike's face change; his brow furrowed, his eyes closed, and she knew he was on the brink. Little grunts spilled from him as he thrust into her, maintaining the same languid rhythm. As his breaths turned to pants, Robin pulled back slightly, inciting Strike to open his eyes and look at her with concern.

"I want to see," she said desperately.

Strike hissed out, "my God," and pulled out. Moving fast, he pulled off the condom and positioned himself above her, knees on the mattress, Robin propped up on the mound of pillows. Strike took hold of his throbbing shaft and moved, once, twice, three -

Robin's hands came up to cup her breasts; she squeezed and then pushed them together. Strike came furiously, erupting all over her chest and neck, cum dripping into the valley between her breasts. Robin ran a finger across one nipple, then raised the finger to her mouth and sucked gently. Aftershocks hit Strike until he sank back down onto the bed beside her, spent and yet replete.

A little while later, Strike reluctantly tore himself away from her caressing hand, which was running its fingers softly through his hair, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He hopped to the bathroom, using chairs and walls and desks to swing himself along. He brought back a warm, wet facecloth and a hand towel, and proceeded to clean Robin's chest and neck with delicate care. Robin watched him, a powerful, warm sensation in the pit of her belly. 

Strike finished up and tossed the towel aside. In the back of his mind, he remembered that their clothes were strewn across the floor of the hallway, but Robin didn't seem to be worried. He settled back onto the pillows beside her, reached for her, and pulled her close. Her head rested in the crook of his shoulder, his hand stroked the hair away from her face, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist. She turned her head slightly and made a little nuzzling movement. Strike's heart gave a little leap, and then he sank into peaceful contentment.

"So. Last night still the best?" he asked teasingly.

Robin shook her head. Her throat felt constricted and she wasn't sure she could speak. Strike looked at her, amused, and kept stroking her hair.

"This is the best morning of my life, hands down," he told her.

"That was…" she said softly. Strike looked down at her as she met his eyes. "Fucking hot," she finished.

Strike laughed out loud, relieved and exhilarated, looking forward to the days and weeks and years ahead. "Yeah, it was. And this is even better," he said, squeezing her tighter and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.


End file.
